The quiet undoing: AI might dehumanise us, one small surrender at a time. – 123rf.com
The other night, I was helping my mother set up her new phone. She kept pressing the wrong icon, then laughed at herself for doing so.
When I told her that the phone could now use artificial intelligence (AI) to translate recipes, recognise her face, and even suggest messages to reply, she paused and said softly, “So it thinks for me now?”
We both smiled, but I could feel something deeper beneath her tone – a quiet wonder mixed with worry. She wasn’t afraid of technology. She was afraid of disappearing from it.
We live in an age where convenience often disguises itself as progress. AI finishes our sentences, edits our photos, writes our reports, and sometimes even predicts what we want.
It’s dazzling, magical and quietly dangerous, not because AI will destroy us, but because it might dehumanise us, one small surrender at a time.
I see it in the way my students type prompts instead of ideas. I see it when colleagues ask ChatGPT to “make this sound heartfelt”.
We outsource not only our labour, but also our language of emotion.
Slowly, the warmth that once connected us to each other becomes filtered through perfect grammar and predictive text.
But perhaps the answer isn’t to turn away from AI; it’s to turn towards ourselves again.
Here are a few ways we might be able to bring back the human scent in this era of silicon minds:
> Cherish imperfection
AI thrives on precision, while humans thrive on the unpredictable beauty of flaws.
A slightly messy sentence, a shaky voice note, a handmade note written in a rush – these remind us that warmth lives in imperfection. When we let AI correct everything, we risk sanding down the very edges that make us real.
> Speak slower, listen longer
Technology rewards speed, but connection requires slowness. When we pause to listen to a loved one instead of multitasking through a glowing screen, we reclaim something sacred: presence.
> Create, not just consume
AI gives us answers instantly, but creativity is born from wonder, from not knowing. Write a letter, paint a clumsy picture, sing off-key. These small acts remind us that joy doesn’t have to be optimised; it only needs to be felt.
The truth is, AI isn’t stealing our humanity. It’s merely revealing how easily we forget it. Like any mirror, it reflects what we give it. If we fill it with care, curiosity and kindness, it might just learn to amplify those qualities too.
I think of my mother again, squinting at her phone, trying to make sense of a voice that sounds helpful but has no heartbeat.
And yet, when I sat beside her, guiding her through the steps patiently, she smiled – not because she mastered the app, but because we shared a moment of learning together.
That is what AI can never replicate: the tenderness of teaching, the laughter of confusion, the small triumph of connection.
Someday, AI might truly understand us – not just our words, but also our pauses; not just our logic, but also our longing.
Until then, it is up to us to let machines handle the routine, so we can keep the poetry. Because at the end of every algorithm, there should still be a heart, and maybe, just maybe, that’s the kind of intelligence the world needs most.
Dr Lau Chee Yong is an assistant professor at the School of Engineering, Asia Pacific University of Technology & Innovation (APU). His professional qualifications include a PhD in Bioelectronic Engineering; he is a Chartered Engineer in the UK, a Registered Engineer in Malaysia, a European Engineer, and a Malaysian Registered Technology Expert. He currently serves as the librarian for the Institution of Engineers Malaysia and is a member of its Electronic Engineering Technology Division. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
